


Lullabies

by Elesianne



Series: Stories for Fëanorian week 2017 [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Children, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Maedhros discovers that one never really forgets what one learns in youth when he comforts scared children with a song, near the beginning and near the end.The first chapter is fluff, the second is angst.





	1. Aman

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two-part fic as a way of figuring out how to reconcile the popular-within-fandom tropes of Maedhros as a) the eternal babysitter and b) the (at least initially) less enthusiastic 'foster dad' to Elrond and Elros. This fic is my first contribution to [Fëanorian week](https://feanorianweek.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and prompts that kind of apply are Childhood and Adjusting/Coping.
> 
> The first part takes place during the blissful years in Valinor when Maedhros and Maglor are still children. Note on Quenya names [here](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/post/153874978666/tolkien-meta-rambling-the-quenya-names-of-the). I use only Maglor's father-name here because I imagine that was the only name he had this young.
> 
> The second part takes place some time after the Third Kinslaying so of course there is angst. Sorry about the tonal whiplash; I posted this story in chapters so it's easy to read just one part if you want.

He leaves his door open a crack and doesn't cover the lampstone, because he knows his brother will seek him out sooner or later and Maitimo doesn't want Canafinwë to trip over his feet in the dark.

Cáno is too old now to seek comfort from servants if he becomes scared of the night while their parents are gone, Maitimo believes, but he is not too old to come to his big brother, certainly not it that brother leaves his door open and light on invitingly.

Their parents rarely spend the night away from their children, preferring to take them along on most trips and to many events, but this time their duties meant they had to leave their sons at home with the servants while they stay at an important party until very late in order to be polite. And Athyallë the nursemaid has her hands full with the newest family addition, baby Turcafinwë, so Maitimo and Canafinwë have manage themselves for the most part.

('But you will be all right, won't you?' had their mother asked at the moment of departure, a flicker of worry in her eyes, looking like she was reconsidering her decision to attend the party.

'Of course they will', their father said, his look more confident if also affectionate.

'Of course we will', echoed Maitimo, his arm around Canafinwë's shoulders, and was rewarded with a smile from his mother and an approving nod from his father.)

It takes a little longer than Maitimo expected for his brother to appear, and he is getting sleepy himself by the time he hears the pitter-patter of small feet from the hallway. He sits up at once and rubs the sleepiness from his eyes.

Canafinwë, wearing a long nightgown and furry slippers that stick out from underneath the hem, peeks shyly into the room.

'Nelyo?'

'Yes, Cáno?'

The dark-haired toddler shuffles closer, a thoughtful look on his face. 'The baby is making noise.'

'He likes to do that', Maitimo nods. Their little brother is a noisy child, whether he is crying in distress or shrieking in delight.

'And his room is right next to mine.'

Maitimo scoots back on the bed to lean against the wall and pats the spot next to him. Cáno climbs on the bed, kicks off his slippers and looks at Maitimo with wide eyes.

'Turco might keep making noise until mother and father come home. I might not be able to sleep. And then I will be tired in the morning and can't go to my music lesson.'

Ah, the all-important music lessons, thinks Maitimo. He had been jealous of them at first. After being allowed to begin his music studies with a renowned tutor at an unusually young age, Cáno had been so excited that he hadn't talked about anything else for weeks.

But then Maitimo had realised that he was always the one Cáno ran to after coming home from his lessons, bursting with the need to share all he had learned with his brother, wanting to hear Maitimo's opinion when he practised and did his homework, and all had been well again.

'Well, that wouldn't do at all. So you can sleep here with me', Maitimo tells Cáno and sees the worry melt from his expressive features.

'Thank you.' Cáno hugs his brother, and then Maitimo jumps down from the bed and tiptoes across the floor to fetch a cushion from a chair. By the time he closes the door and gets back to the bed, Cáno has already taken hold of Maitimo's own pillow and laid down on the side of the bed next to the wall, covers drawn up to his nose.

'Can I cover the lampstone?' Maitimo asks him. 'Or do you mind the dark?'

'Not when you're here', Cáno says earnestly, and Maitimo knows that the worry for being too tired for his music lesson wasn't the only fear that drove Cáno here. He doesn't say anything though, just covers the blue light of his father's crystal lamp, finds his way to bed in the dark and slides under the blankets next to Cáno's small, warm form.

'Will you sing me a lullaby?'

Maitimo raises his brows, safe in the knowledge that Cáno can't see it. 'Didn't Athyallë already sing to you when she put you to bed?'

'She never sings all the verses. I had to sing the last three myself and it's not the same.'

'Very well', says Maitimo who still likes lullabies though he has been too old for them for a while now. 'Which song do you want?'

Cáno names his favourite, and Maitimo sings it to him in a quiet voice. Cáno hums along at first but soon gets drowsy and just listens, his breath tickling Maitimo's jaw as they lie facing each other.

'There. Are you ready to sleep now?' Maitimo asks when the song ends, stifling a yawn himself.

'Yes, thank you.'

From Cáno's tone Maitimo can tell that his little brother still has something he wants to say. 'What is it, Cáno?'

'I felt a little lonely in my room', Cáno admits after a moment. 'In the dark.'

'You know you could have left your lamp on, or your curtains open. Or just have come and slept here to begin with', Maitimo says, kindly if lecturingly.

'I know', says Cáno and burrows deeper into the pillow. 'But I wanted to try to be brave first.'

'You are brave', says Maitimo and settles the covers better over them both. 'But you are still only little. Goodnight, Cáno.'

The only answer is a sleepy sniffle, and then Maitimo's little brother stills.

Maitimo smiles in the dark and closes his eyes.


	2. Beleriand

On a stormy night hundreds of years later and an ocean away, and much older and more bitter and broken, Maedhros remembers the nights in his youth when his brothers would seek solace with him when their parents were away, or when one of them had quarrelled with a parent and sought sympathy elsewhere.

Celegorm had usually come to Maedhros in those situations since he and Maglor never understood each other very well, but Carnistir had sometimes gone to Maglor, and the twins in their turn quite often confided in Carnistir who had tried with all his bullheadedness to be a good big brother to them. Curufin had rarely needed anyone aside from their father.

And now they are all gone except Maglor, and even he is away for this particular night, gone to order supplies from a nearby settlement. And the twins, the other twins, no, the _third_ set of twins that Maedhros has had cause to worry over, are crying, probably scared as much by Maglor's absence as the storm raging in the night. They take no solace in Maedhros's presence a few rooms over, and he rather thinks they might become even more scared if he went to their room and tried to comfort them.

The sons of Elwing and Eärendil are no longer afraid of the sons of Fëanor and their folk but neither do they trust them, the only exception being Maglor whose calm manner and lovely songs have lately managed to coax smiles of the half-elf twins. Maedhros they still seem afraid of, and he must admit he has done little to win their trust, to make them less wary of his grim, scarred looks. He thinks Maglor unwise for taking them in and becoming attached.

 _Loving anything is folly for damned men such as we are_ , thinks Maedhros as he tries to ignore the quiet sounds of distressed children.

But the crying begins to get on his nerves, frayed as they are these days, though it is not a loud sound. Elrond and Elros are clearly trying to be quiet even in their unhappiness.

Maedhros tries not to care, but he cannot help contrasting these twins crying uncomforted in a lonely room in the abode of those who killed their kin with the days of his childhood when solace was never far away for an unhappy boy, whether from a brother or a parent or other caring grown-up.

It is becoming increasingly clear that he will not find sleep as long as the children continue crying, and as the storm keeps growing and Maglor will not return tonight, there is no reason why they would stop. Maedhros throws his covers aside and stares at the ceiling for a moment.

There is nothing for it but to get up and go to the children to quiet them down, either by scaring them silent or finding a way to comfort them.

The first option seems more likely to Maedhros when he sees the twins flinch as he steps into their room.

'What's wrong?' he barks, painfully aware of how different his voice is to Maglor's gentle tones. Yet he used to be so good at this, at dealing with children.

 _Children who are all gone now,_ a voice at the back of his head reminds him. Maedhros forces the bitter voice away and addresses Elrond and Elros again.

'What is the matter? Is it the storm?'

The dark-haired, wild-eyed children huddling together on the bed nod. Maedhros sighs and sits down at the foot of the bed. There is plenty of space between him and the twins, but they keep a wary eye on him nonetheless.

'This is not the first storm this winter, and like others before it, it will pass', Maedhros explains as gently as he can. It is not easy to be gentle now when he has been pushing that side of himself aside for years.

'Maglor was here before', says one of the boys, Maedhros doesn't know which. He hasn't bothered to learn to tell them apart.

'And what would Maglor do during a storm so that you… could fall asleep?' he asks.

These children are proud in spite of their young age and their circumstances, Maedhros has learned, so he will not mention their fear or crying. This much he remembers of dealing with distraught children. Celegorm would become ever more violently unhappy if anyone claimed he was afraid, he recalls.

'He sang to us', says the other twin, and then, before Maedhros has time to even groan and say _Of course he did_ , the first twin asks if he will sing to them now.

Looking into the young grey eyes that gaze defiantly back at him from a face reddened and streaked with tears, Maedhros agrees to sing before he even thinks about it.

 _This is not a good idea_. All the lullabies he knows are in Quenya, a language that must be hateful to these children if they even know it – Maedhros isn't sure they do – and the few songs he knows in Sindarin are songs of war or drinking, not suitable for scared children.

'I don't know many songs, and I am not the singer my brother is', he tries to stall, and occupies himself by going to throw more wood into the fading fire.

'Maglor told us you used to sing lullabies to him when he was little.'

'It was a very long time ago.'

'Do you still remember them?'

'I do.'

'Will you sing one of them to us?'

Maedhros sits down on the bed again, and this time the children don't shy away from him. 'Those lullabies are not in your language.'

Elrond and Elros look at each other. 'We don't care', says the one who always seems to speak first. 'Maglor sings in the old language sometimes too.'

Maedhros makes a noncommittal sound at that. 'Wait a moment,  I'm trying to remember the words.'

The words of Maglor's favourite lullaby arrive eventually, and with them the soft tone meant for soothing fretful elflings. Maedhros stares at the fire while he sings, and if he sees in the flames the faces of those long-ago children he has lost, it is surely just because the 'old language' reminds him of them and not because the burden of their deaths is heavier to bear each day.

Maedhros lets the last words of the song fade into silence before he turns to the half-elf twins.

'Thank you', says the first boy, no longer so defiant.

'You are welcome', Maedhros says, and after a brief battle with himself asks, 'Why did you even ask me? Why would you want to hear me sing? I haven't been especially kind to you.'

The second twin answers. 'You are Maglor's brother, and you are kind to him. And tonight you came for us, and you did not have a sword this time.'

Maedhros doesn't know if it is the partially human blood and nature of these children, or if all children who grow up in a world of war grow up so fast and so wise.

'Maglor will be back tomorrow, or when the storm passes', he promises, not certain whether he means to comfort himself or the twins. 'And I will stay here for the night.'

As Elrond and Elros blow their noses and crawl under covers, Maedhros settles into an armchair by the fire, the warmth of it easing the old ache in his right shoulder.

It sounds like the storm is passing already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Maedhros. I do love your tarnished, defiant spirit so.
> 
> Thanks for reading, do leave a comment if you feel at all like it! You can also follow me on [Tumblr](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/) to keep up with my fics and other ramblings.


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